CHAPTER VII

DISILLUSION


Osborn had to tell Desmond Rokeby; he simply couldn't help it. They
met at a quick lunch counter, an unusual meeting, for Rokeby lunched
almost invariably at his club. As Osborn ate his sandwiches and drank
his ale he was looking sideways at Rokeby all the time, and feeling,
somehow, how futile he was, how worthless bachelors were to the world;
and presently, when the space around them had cleared, and the
white-capped server had moved away, he almost whispered:

"I say, Desmond, there's great news at my place."

Rokeby looked into Osborn's eager face.

"I wonder," said he, "if I could give a guess."

"I know you couldn't, old chap," said Osborn; "the surprise simply
bowled _me_ over."

Rokeby had already guessed right, but he had the tact and kindness not
to say so; he had known men's pleasure in the telling before.

"Are you going to tell me?" he asked.